


Oh snap

by RoughTweedAction (Donya)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Holmecest - Freeform, Humour, Intimate injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 21:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10052300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donya/pseuds/RoughTweedAction
Summary: John cannot believe it but there's someone in Sherlock's bedroom and all the signs point to sex. Until someone screams and John regrets everything.





	

John heard it on the stairs. the rhythmic banging coming from either the bathroom or Sherlock's bedroom. The first thought that popped into his dirty mind was that someone has finally managed to convince Sherlock to explore his sexuality but that could not be true. Most likely, he was assaulting the wall or the bed to solve a case or out of frustration and boredom.

To John's surprise, the door to the bedroom was shut. That didn't seem right, Sherlock would never... Unless the first impression was right. John's eyes widened and he carefully retreated to the stairs. He was curious about the identity of the new owner of the Holmes virginity, but listening to the suggestive sounds made him uncomfortable, it was like catching younger sibling in the act.

He was about to consult this puzzling issue with Mrs Hudson when a dramatically loud scream erupted from upstairs. Not Sherlock's voice, thankfully. John rushed back to the flat and knocked on the bedroom door. 'Sherlock's, what's going on?'

'Experiment! Don't come in!', Sherlock shouted, with a touch of panic.

The yelps and cries of intense pain coming from the inside didn't convince John not to worry. At least it wasn't Sherlock. That brought more questions, though. What could a forty-year-old virgin do so wrong? Was it a kink gone wrong, did the mysterious partner fell off the bed? Maybe they lost something or Sherlock accidentally bit a sensitive body part?

'Are you sure no one needs medical attention?' John offered, as he took his phone out of his pocket to call Mycroft. They might need his assistance.

Sherlock ignored the question. John heard some fierce whispers, a frantic 'through the window!' and a thud. Forcing a suffering lover to escape this way seemed cruel. Why would they go to such lengths to avoid revealing their secret?

'Oh, my God! Is that Jim Moriarty?'

'Don't be ridiculous,' Sherlock yelled. 'He's dead.'

'Irene Adler, then?'

'Dead as well.'

John found it hard to believe. In Sherlock's world, it was compulsory and kind of sexy to fake own death, everyone did it.

Waiting patiently for the events to unfold, John went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. He wanted to enjoy watching the walk of shame and a nice cuppa was a perfect addition to the half empathetic, half amused expression he wore.

Just when the kettle boiled, Sherlock emerged from the room, fully dressed and calm. The master of deduction forgot to hide the evidence of his furtive activities. Unmistakable post-shagging walk, two love bites on either side of his neck, hair messier than usually. No one was so unobservant to miss those signs. 

''Oh, tea, lovely. Where's Rosie?'

'Don't change the subject. What has happened? Is your friend all right?'

Sherlock looked him in the eyes. 'John, I have a great favour to ask of you. Go out now and don't come back for at least an hour.'

John narrowed his eyes. 'That's not going to happen. I have no idea whom you are hiding but I guess it's someone not right for you and you know it. Also, they may need a doctor.'

Sherlock considered his options and after a long moment requested another favour, no questions asked.

'Oh, God. It's something bad, isn't it? Should I call Mycroft? '

'No and it;'s not what it seems. Follow me.'

John expected to see anyone, including Mrs Hudson, but not Mycroft. Yet there he was, although he looked unfamiliar stripped of his fancy clothes. His face contorted in pain and real tears on his cheeks would confuse anyone who knew the Iceman. No one is cool and composed when their private parts are injured, apparently.

'John, it's not what you think,' Mycroft assured him fervently. The way he clutched the duvet to his lower belly suggested not only embarrassment. He was lying on his back and when John connected all the dots, he reached a conclusion- penile fracture. Still, there were more pressing matters to address first.

'You had sex with your brother?!' He exclaimed in shock, staring at Mycroft. 'You had sex with your brother?!' He accused Sherlock. 'You had sex with each other,' he mumbled to himself, wondering why he was surprised. Expecting conventional behaviour of the Holmes brothers? Laughably naïve.

'Of course not, that would be wrong and frowned upon.' Sherlock lied shamelessly. 'Someone else was here and left through the window.'

'Is that so? Who?'

Sherlock sighed heavily. Mycroft begged him not to say it.

'Jim Moriarty.'

'The one who died?'

'Yes.'

'Interesting. Blew his brains out, asked us a thousand times if we missed him and came back to break your brother's penis in your bed?'

'Clearly, it's a popular kink to use your relatives' beds for such purposes. Have you ever did it in Harry's bedroom?'

'God, no! Ah, never mind. How are you feeling, Mycroft? Is my diagnosis right? If so. it's a medical emergency.'

'You should understand that discretion is necessary. My car will be here any moment and we may require your help to help me get there,' Mycroft had the nerve to sound authoritative. Impressive, considering the treatment he was about to receive, surgical repair and unending stifled giggles of the medical staff.

Dressing his bulky, sore body was a real challenge. So many layers and buttons. his groans of pain. theirs of exertion. not to mention unsightly sights. Mycroft's other umbrella was swollen, flaccid and bruised, John wanted to erase that image from his mind as soon as possible. He also saw the lack of results of Mycroft's diet, his flabby stomach and thighs. And yet it was Mycroft who thwarted numerous attempts by the army of type B fans to catch the consulting detective.

Dragging Mycroft downstairs took a lot of effort. He was leaning mostly against Sherlock and each step was carefully planned. Sherlock did not complain. oddly enough, and patiently led his brother to the front door. The car was waiting, Sherlock helped Mycroft get in and joined him.

'Thank you, John. I will be back soon.'

'We need to talk,' John pointed a finger at him threateningly, then leant down and did the same to a worryingly pale Mycroft. 'How long has this been going on? Who started it? Have you ever... on my bed?'

'I believe I'm about to faint,' Mycroft announced weakly to end the conversation.

The only consolation was the risk of erectile dysfunction, a suitable punishment for incest. John would have plenty of time to talk some sense into Sherlock and give him the proper sex talk.

**Author's Note:**

> In loving memory of Mc Steamy.


End file.
